It was on this evening, too, that Daddy told Janice he had made a
point of seeing and talking with Johnson, Mr. Latham's tenant.
The man had a small account in the Farmers and Merchants Bank,
for, like most of his nation, "Yon Yonson," as his wife had
called him, was a frugal man.
"He came into the bank and I inquired about the girl who visited
his wife and who broke Mrs. Latham's cutglass dish," said Mr.
Day. "Johnson says he knows little about the girl--not even
where she lives, or really who she is. Only he told me her last
name was not Cedarstrom."
"So that, I fear," added Mr. Day, shaking his head, "is another
lost trail. It does seem that the mystery of the disappearance
of our treasure-box, Janice, is likely to remain a mystery.
"At least, that girl at the Latham's was another girl than our
Olga. Johnson says she was only visiting his wife for a day or
two. She was a friend of has wife's. I think they believe Latham
wants to find the girl to make her pay for that broken dish, so
they are less willing to talk about her than might otherwise be
the case."
"Just the same," sighed Janice, "I do wish Gummy had known just
how our Olga looked."
"How is that?"
"Then he would have known for sure whether it was Olga Cedarstrom
or not. Just his seeing that her hair was strained back from her
face doesn't prove anything."
"I should say it did not," laughed her father. "That manner of
wearing the hair seems to be a common failing with these Swedish
women. Besides, didn't I tell you that Johnson says that girl is
not named 'Cedarstrom?'"
"We-ell, it is awfully funny, Daddy. It doesn't seem as though a
girl could disappear so completely--wiped right off the map--"
"Vigorously expressed, I admit," her father interrupted. "But we
must not begin to doubt everybody's word about it. I guess
Johnson is honest."
"And those other people who knew her in Pickletown?"
"They simply don't know what has become of her. Or of Willie
Sangreen, either," Daddy admitted. "That does seem strange. Of
course the two have gone off somewhere to be married and have not
told their friends."
"It proves that Olga did take dear mother's miniature --and--and
those letters," said Janice excitedly. "Or she would not hide
herself."
"Yes. I thought we had already agreed on that," her father said.
It was evident that he did not wish uselessly to discuss the
matter of the lost keepsakes. Janice, young as she was, realized
that her father was growing more grave and more serious every
day. She did not believe that this change was altogether due to
business anxieties, or even to their household vexations.
At night, after she was supposed to be in bed and sound asleep,
the girl heard him walking back and forth the length of the
living room; or, sometimes, now that the weather was so mild, he
tramped up and down the front porch until very, very late.
There was surely some trouble on his mind that he did not care to
confide to his little daughter. Broxton Day sighed more often
than had been his wont even during those hard, hard days
immediately following the death of Janice's mother. His hearty
laugh was not so spontaneous nor heard as often as before.
Janice could not speak about this change in her father. She
believed she knew why he was so grave and why some of his nights
were sleepless.
Broxton Day had loved his wife with a passionate devotion. He
must miss her presence more and more as the days went on. In
spite of all the companionship Janice could give him, the man's
existence was a lonely one.
"And, too, her heart told her that she had been the unwitting
cause of this new burden which had come upon daddy's mind. Those
letters which Janice had never seen--the presence of which she
had not even suspected in the secret compartment of the lost
treasure-box--had been Broxton Day's most precious possession.
Janice had lost them! Her carelessness had given the angry Olga
the opportunity to take the box away with her.
The letters had been written at a time when Janice's father and
mother were very close together in spirit, if not in actual
contact. Even Janice could understand that Laura Day must have
revealed her very soul to her husband in those epistles.
Oh, if she could only bring them back!
So sorrow began to be entertained in the Day house on Knight
Street, as a continual guest. It did seem, too, that Janice
could do very little to relieve her father of any of the
embarrassments of their situation. She
worked as hard as she could before she went to school and after
she came home, but she could not begin to do all that was needed
to be done. And she was so tired sometimes after supper that she
fell asleep over her homework.
Their meals became, too, a mere round of bacon-and-egg breakfasts
and delicatessen suppers. Shop-cooked meats and potato salads
were on the bill of fare too often to tempt the appetite of
either Mr. Day or his daughter, and the latter began to depend a
good deal upon "baker's stuff" for her lunch.
With the unfortunate experiences they had had with help, however,
Janice did not wonder that daddy found nobody to suit him at the
agencies. Olga, Delia, Mrs. Watkins--and all those who had come
and gone before --were enough to fill the mind of any person with
despair.
Janice did not forget to tell Mrs. Carringford what Mr. Day had
said regarding her trouble, and that on the very next day.
"He'll be sure to see some way out for you, Mrs. Carringford,"
the girl assured her friend's mother, with much confidence.
"Daddy is always doing things for folks. He doesn't just advise;
he is sure to do something."
"Yes, I should not be surprised if Mr. Broxton Day was a
do-something man," said Mrs. Carringford, smiling. "He must be
when he has such a do-something daughter."
"And you really will come up to see him this evening?" urged
Janice, blushing rosily at what she considered a compliment.
"I--I--well, my dear, I could not accept any financial
favor from your father. I would not have a right to do
so. The Carringfords must be independent."
"But, Mrs Carringford, you mustn't feel that way! I have no idea
Daddy could give you much money, even if you, would let him.
But, you see, he knows so much more about such things as
mortgages, and loans, and real estate, that he can give you good
advice. And he says that Mr. Abel Strout's middle name is
'Mean'!"
Mrs. Carringford laughingly agreed to that, and in the evening
she came to the house with Gummy, Amy being left at home to take
care of the little ones.
Mr. Day had already met and quite approved of Mrs. Carringford's
two older children, Gummy and Amy, for he had seen them both at
the house. But he had had no idea, in spite of Janice's
enthusiastic praise, that Mrs, Carringford was quite the woman
she was.
He saw now a very gentle, pretty woman whose soft, wavy hair was
becoming prematurely gray, with an intelligent countenance and
eyes that fixed one's attention almost immediately. Here, Mr.
Day saw, was a capable, energetic spirit--a woman who would carry
through whatever she undertook could it be carried through at
all, yet who was not objectionably self-assertive-like
Miss Peckham, for instance.
If Mrs. Carringford had made a mistake in her purchase of the
property in Mullen Lane, it was because she had been badly
advised, if not actually cheated, by the sly old fellow who had
for years owned the property which he had taken for a bad debt.
Abel Strout had doubtless been glad to get rid of the Mullen Lane
place, and for the first payment made upon it by Mrs.
Carringford. But he had been foxy enough to make a hard and fast
bargain with the widow. He had her tied up in a contract that,
if she failed to meet her obligations in a small way, even, would
enable him to walk in and take the place away from her.
And he had done more than that. For some reason best known to
himself he had first transferred the property to one John
Jamison--a farm hand of that section-- and had then had this
Jamison transfer the property to Mrs. Carringford, he paying the
difference represented by the mortgage he held.
"He said Jamison had grown tired of his bargain a week after he
bought it," Mrs. Carringford explained. "He wanted Mr. Strout to
take it back. Strout said by making the transfer he would be
aiding both Mr. Jamison and me."
And now a change was coming. Since the transfer Mullen Lane
property had begun to look up. A factory was going to be built
in the vicinity, and that part of Greensboro was likely to offer
a better field for real estate operations.
Broxton Day knew all this, which Mrs. Carringford did not. He
saw that what Strout wanted was to get the property back into his
own hands again. He would refuse to renew the mortgage and
frighten Mrs. Carringford into giving up her home.
The way the matter figured out, the expense of paying interest
and taxes on the Mullen Lane property was no greater than rental
would be elsewhere for the Carringford family. In the end, if
the widow held on, the place might really be more valuable than
it now was, and would sell for considerably more than she had
agreed to pay Abel Strout for it.
"I tell you what you do," Broxton Day finally said, having
thought the matter over. "Strout has told you he will accept a
small payment on the mortgage, and will then renew the balance
for another year."
"Yes. But ought I to spend any more of the little sum I have
left in that way, when my children may need it for food?" asked
the anxious widow.
"You show me by these papers that you are fixed fairly well for
another year. You and your son will both earn something, of
course, during the next twelve months. So if I were you, I would
throw a sprat to catch a herring, and he smiled.
"You mean?" the widow asked doubtfully.
"I mean for you to offer him fifty dollars against the principal
of the mortgage. No matter of whom you would get money, you
would have to pay the same interest you pay Strout now and no
matter whom I might get money from for you, so that you could pay
off Strout and get rid of him, there would be the additional
expense of making the new mortgage, and all that."
"But is he to be trusted?"
"Not at all. At the end of the year he will want more money, if
he thinks you will have difficulty in getting it and there is a
chance of your having to give up your home."
"Oh!"
"But a year from now I prophesy," said Mr. Day, "that your little
house will be worth much more than it is to-day. At least it
will be worth no less. It will be easier a year from now to
raise another mortgage than it is right now. Just toll Strout
along a little," and he laughed.
"Do you think I can do this, Mr. Day?" asked Mrs. Carringford
doubtfully.
"You can to it for your children's sake, I have no doubt. And
remember, in any case, if Strout demands the entire mortgage paid
at once, within three days I will try to obtain for you a new
mortgagee. You shall not lose your home, or what money you have
already put into it, if I can help it."
"Oh, Mr. Day! exclaimed the woman, warmly. "If I can go home
with this confident feeling--"
"You may. Of course, you are in debt. It is going to be a hard
struggle for you to get along. But your children are growing up
and in time will be able to shoulder a part of the burden which
you have assumed for their sake. Take courage, Mrs. Carringford.
Everything will turn out right in the end, I am sure."
It was plain that Mrs. Carringford was greatly comforted. When
she left, Janice whispered to her father: "I'm awfully proud of
you, Daddy. You do have such a way with you!"
But helping other people out of their troubles was not helping
the Days out of their particular Slough of Despond. So many
difficulties seemed reaching out to clutch at Janice and Daddy!
The girl thought it was like walking through a briar-patch.
Every step they took, trouble retarded them.
First and foremost the disappearance of that strange Olga
Cedarstrom, and the loss of the box of heirlooms, was continually
in Janice's mind. The girls at school knew about it, although
only Amy knew just how serious the loss was to the Days.
The puzzle regarding the girl named Olga who had helped in the
Latham's kitchen the night of Stella's birthday party, had been
noised abroad among Janice's school friends, and more or less
comment was made upon it.
"Say, Janice, did you ever find out what became of that Swede who
broke Mrs. Latham's dish the night we were all there?" asked one
of the girls one day. "Didn't you say she might be the very girl
who ran away from your house?"
"Yes! I did think so. But it was not the same. Her friends
said this girl was not named Cedarstrom."
"Well, who'd want such a name, anyway?" laughed another of the
party.
Stella was herself one of those present; but at this time she was
not speaking to Janice. She laughed maliciously when Janice Day
had gone.
"What's the matter with you, Stella?" asked Bertha Warring.
"Your 'ha, ha' is like that of the villain in the melodrama.
What is the matter?"
"Oh, never mind," returned Stella, apparently very much enjoying
her own secret thoughts.
"Tell us, Stella; then we'll all laugh," urged another.
"Oh, no. You girls say I can't keep a secret. But I'll
show you--and that Janice Day--that I can. I know something
about the Olga-girl that she'd like to know; but Janice shall
never learn it from me," and Stella laughed again maliciously.